Sex Type Thing
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: Sam and Dean are facing an invisible spirit that seems to have desires far less murderous, and far MORE intimate, than their usual target. Can the Winchester boys triumph, or is a seductive adversary too much for them to handle? This borders on crack. :P


_A/N: Wrote this for my friend Sara, so she now has her fanfiction. It's meant to be pure, naughty amusement. And JUMPING JELLY BEANS – I just realized I wrote a fic that has nothing to do with anime. Or even a book. And it's not slash, either. This must be the Apocalypse. Now, since this is clearly new territory for me (I've never really watched TV before, and I'm only on season two of the series), I apologize if some things are off. I honestly had a huge ball writing this though, so I hope people laugh and enjoy it as much as I did._

Dean executed a swift pivot, praying that Sam would pick up on the tactic with haste. He did. The younger Winchester boy swiveled in the opposite direction, putting them back-to-back. Good. Now they were less vulnerable. Between the two of them, they had half a chance.

Too bad the spirit was invisible.

"Where is it, Dean?" Sam shouted, eyes darting to each dark corner in turn before he glanced over his shoulder at his brother.

"Gee Sammy, I don't know. Maybe I could find it faster if you quit yelling in my ear." Dean paused to crack his neck indignantly, though the hand with the salt gun stayed poised and ready.

"That thing's going to _kill_ us."

"No one's gonna die, Sammy. Shut up and work with me here."

"Funny, Dean. I've been working with you on this one since the beginning, but every time you say you've got it under control, another piece of clothing gets ripped off my body."

Dean rolled his eyes and bit back a rebuttal. He knew where Sam was going, and he didn't want to hear it. After all, he was already standing half-naked himself, wasn't he? His pants had been the first to go.

"I can't help it if I'm not thrilled being raped by an _invisible spirit_, Dean."

"'Kay," Dean shrugged, annoyed. "Okay. That's cool. I get why you're angry. I think it wants me more than it wants you anyway, so if you wanna leave, be my guest and maybe it'll let you." He couldn't see Sam's face, but he knew his younger brother was frowning.

"It only wants you?" Sam queried. "And what makes you think that?"

Dean smirked as something in the shadows began to stir. "_You_ still have your pants on, Sammy boy." Both brothers dodged at the same instant, and Dean fired.

The rock salt missed – or maybe Dean hadn't been aiming in the right direction in the first place. The plaster on the ceiling shattered, misting them in a coat of white dust.

"Damn it, Dean – that was a lousy shot!"

"Well pardon me, but the thing is invisible. If you think you can do better, why don't you come and help me out?" Sam was ducked beneath the remnants of an old wooden table. Which did nothing to help them, when the elder boy thought about it.

"You're the one with the rock salt gun," Sam protested. "You wouldn't give it to me this time!"

Dean fired off another round and hooted into the adjacent hallway. "I know how to use my gun, Sammy – do you?"

Sam crawled out from his shelter and grumbled beneath his breath. "I can't believe you're finding this funny right now."

"RAPE SPIRIT," Dean hollered, sauntering up the hallway in only his boxers, "COME AND GET ME, YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER…"

Sam gaped after his brother and wondered vaguely if the elder Winchester had finally lost it. He scanned the room once more before following his brother out. No use grabbing their clothes – they could come back for them once they roasted their adversary. Besides, for all Sam knew, the spirit wasn't done undressing them.

As he moved into the hall, something grabbed him by the leather of his belt and hauled him backward.

"Uh, Dean? I found it." It was all he could manage before he was dragged to the wall and slammed against it like a battering ram. He groaned.

Dean's footsteps pounded back the way they had come, until he stood smirking in the doorway. He cocked his weapon. "All right Sammy, nice job. Now stay there all pretty and let me shoot it."

"Wait! You can't shoot it while it's holding on to me – what if you hit me?!"

"Bah. It's only rock salt…"

"Dean!" But Sam's mouth snapped shut to cut off the rest of his protest. For all the world, there was nothing in front of him, but he swore he felt hands running over his torso.

Three seconds later, his belt was tugged free of his belt loops and tossed carelessly across the room. Dean caught it with a snort of disapproval. "Damn, I thought I was the one it wanted."

"Dean," Sam struggled, though the more he moved, the tighter he found himself pressed against the wall, "I don't even know what _gender_ this thing is. I don't want it touching me!"

Dean paid him no heed. He began twirling Sam's belt, casually as if he were flipping himself pancakes.

"What the hell's your problem, Dean?!"

"I dunno Sam," Dean called languidly, as his brother's head was forced back to expose his throat. "All this yelling at me for going to shoot it, then more yelling for me to save you… I'm gettin' kind of tired of this indecision." Sam gasped, then writhed as something appeared to linger at his collarbone, but Dean ignored him. "You can't seem to make up your mind, and all this Dean Abuse is wearing me down."

Sam was livid. Something warm… something _moist_ was hovering at his neck, traveling down his skin and to the hollow of his throat to make him feel very _violated_, and Dean was pulling his useless stunts. He thrashed wildly, but to no avail; the thing had him positively pinned down, and now the hot feeling was moving from his neck to his stomach, and farther downward…

"I mean, maybe it doesn't want to kill us," Dean was still speculating, though Sam had lost track of the better part of his argument by then. "Maybe it just wants to have its way with us and then let us go. Heh, couldn't blame it if it did…" He'd finished twirling Sam's belt, and now he looked up with a nefarious chuckle.

Sam had his eyes cinched shut, breath coming ragged and tight as the button popped open at the waistline of his pants.

"Whoa. Or on second thought there, Sammy, maybe it just wants to have its way with _you_."

"And you're…" Sam fought through his gasps, "Just going to _watch_?"

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed, grinning his cheekiest grin. "That's kind of perverted. I should leave you two alone."

"DEAN."

"Okay, okay." Dean had set the salt gun on a nearby table, and now he moved to pick it up and find a way to free his brother.

He never got far enough.

There was a whoosh from somewhere overhead, and Dean found himself flat on his back on the concrete, an invisible weight pressing down on him from above. He grimaced. That would be a pretty lump on his noggin when it blossomed.

Sam froze, forgetting momentarily the hot air that felt like _breath_ that was hovering around his midsection. He stared at the prostrate Dean.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a minor concussion, no big deal…" Dean's mutterings trailed off as a visible tug to his boxers made both boys gulp. "Oh shit. Sam…"

Realization dawned on them both. "Dean, there are two of them, aren't there?"

Dean leaned his head back and let out a puff of air that said they'd been had. "Yup."

"And you don't have the gun, do you."

"Nope."

A sensation like fingers wisped across the inside of Sam's thigh. "So basically, we're both in trouble."

"Only if you don't like spirit sex," came Dean's nervous reply.

Sam didn't want to know what that implied. He was furious. He struggled again, while Dean did the same, and sweat broke out across his brow. No. No _way_ he was letting some invisible, high-libido spirit take advantage of him in a dark basement room.

And in front of his brother, no less.

As if the spirit could read his mind, a door on the far side of the room banged open of its own accord. Sam felt his feet leave the ground; he went flying through the door to land violently on the surface of an old countertop. "Aggh… That's going to leave permanent damage…" The door slammed shut, and Sam was left alone with the spirit.

Dean heard the door slam and looked up. Loose plaster shook free from his hair and fell into his eyes, and he swore. Great. Sam was trapped inside a dark room with a spirit that was trying to rape them. Dean would rather take demons any day.

"All right, you son of a bitch, get the hell off me." He lashed out with both arms, but only seemed to come up against an unbreakable force field. "That's my little brother in there."

The spirit didn't seem to care. Dean felt something soft and feathery – lips – caressing his ear, and he stiffened. The unseen lips nibbled at his earlobe, and he let out a groan. "You shouldn't go there, you sick spirit," he managed, but he felt a dangerous tingle of pleasure and his breath caught. There was a tongue at the tender spot between his neck and shoulder now, and he gritted his teeth. "I might fall for this after enough temptation, but Sammy won't, and then he'll come out here and blast you into pieces. Right Sammy?" Dean hollered the last words at the top of his lungs.

Sam heard the inquiry through the closed door, but he couldn't muster the strength to reply above a whisper. "S-Sure thing, Dean," he swallowed, shivering as the zip on his fly slid down. He was sweating bullets, fighting the ache of longing that had seeped into him unadulterated, and he had no idea what Dean was talking about. Invisible fingers raked through his hair, and suddenly he didn't _care_.

He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes so the sensation was heightened. Thin, willowy hands – a girl's? – scraped down his back and tugged him forward. Now he was sitting, half leant against the cupboards above the counter, while the ghostly touch moved back to the hem of his pants. It occurred to him that he wasn't fighting.

Oh, this was _wrong_.

Something tight – something sticky and hot – engulfed him then, and he released a shuddering moan. The spirit was using its mouth to slide up and down his length, and damn it, but Sam couldn't _think_. He knew this had to be dangerous; he couldn't _breathe_, but oh god, he wanted it to never stop…

There was a crash from the other room. Some kind of a scuffle was nearing its height, but Sam barely registered the situation. He let his head fall back; he closed his eyes. There was an unquenchable desire building between his legs, a languid, teasing rhythm to the way he was being touched…

The door burst open, and lights flickered on. Sam was jerked back into painful reality with the click of a trigger being locked into position.

"Sam. Duck. _Now._"

Sam rolled off the countertop in confusion – one hand at the waist of his pants to keep them from slipping off – and took cover from the blast that rang out over his head. Wood splintered as the rock salt exploded against the cupboard doors. Then all was silent.

"I think I got it," Dean panted, looking a little disheveled as he raked a hand through his hair.

Sam staggered to his feet. "You couldn't have done that sooner?"

"Hey, I was a little distracted, all right?" Dean's attention moved to Sam's pants next, and the older Winchester wished that he could have avoided looking there. "Had your fun, did you?"

A flush of pink found its way to Sam's cheeks. "Dean, that's not—"

"Yeah yeah, I know. Zip 'em up now, Big Boy. Party's over."

"I'm going to kill you."

Dean smirked. "No you're not. You're going to be too busy reliving that encounter during the car ride out of here." He turned away and headed out to the Impala with a whistle and a swagger.

Sam flared his nostrils in irritation, but followed his older brother out.

Dean played Stone Temple Pilot's "Sex Type Thing" on repeat all the way to the next state.


End file.
